


Asking For It

by dollylux



Category: Football RPF
Genre: First Time, Flirting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, Train Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Train going across Spain, 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asking For It

"Your feet stink."

Sergio wrinkles his nose up in offense, craning down to grab hold of his own foot and haul it up closer to his face, his leg stretching easily to accommodate. Iker raises his eyebrows, impressed with his flexibility but keeping his mouth shut. He watched Sergio sniff at his own foot before dropping it almost immediately, that concerned face seamlessly turning into a relieved smirk.

"They do not. Bitch. They smell like roses. See?" Sergio lifts his foot once again and points it almost gracefully, pressing the tips of his socked toes against Iker's cheek. Iker scoffs in disgust, grabbing ahold of Sergio's foot before it can go anywhere and tickling him viciously, not stopping even as Sergio squawks and jerks to get away.

"Iker, stop it! I've gotta fuckin' piss anyway, damnit!" Sergio is nearly pouting now, dangerously close to it, his hands braced on either side of his seat as he tugs pleadingly for his foot back. Iker quirks his eyebrows again and brings Sergio's foot close to his mouth to hide his grin.

"René told me once that he used to play tickle monster with you."

Sergio's eyes go from sulking to sheer panic in two blinks of those long eyelashes. His jaw sets and he grips the seat even tighter, giving his foot an experimental jerk but Iker, being the reflexive freak he is, holds fast.

"...You wouldn't."

"Really?" Iker asks with casual innocence, running the pad of Sergio's foot along his lips which makes Sergio twitch in anticipation. Iker's strong fingers are wrapped around a rather delicate-looking ankle and he steals quick glances down at Sergio's legs (nice legs, they're very nice legs). "Why wouldn't I?"

Sergio blinks rapidly, licking his lips as he tries to think of a good enough reason before the tickling can actually start, his eyes flitting back and forth all over the train.

"B-because... because I have a terrible scream?"

Iker's smile is nothing but warm.

"You have a beautiful scream."

"Oh. Well. Because you don't want me to pee on myself?"

"Has that ever stopped me before?"

"...No. Ah! Uh, um... because..." Sergio relaxes a little suddenly, sliding down into his seat and lifting his free leg to drag his foot up Iker's thigh. "Because you haven't had a handjob in such a long time and I'm really--"

Iker's cheeks flush and he lets go of Sergio's foot surprisingly, glancing around at their teammates that are all very nearby.

"How do you know when the last time was that I got a handjob?"

Sergio shrugs noncommittally, lifting up out of his seat to plop down next to Iker in his. He slides a smooth hand across Iker's thighs and eases it up between his legs which makes Iker freeze and jerk, his eyes wide and scandalized. Sergio gleefully starts to tickle Iker then, aiming straight for his ribs and his hips because he knows where Iker is most ticklish (he knows where everyone is most ticklish). Iker struggles against him, his breath held so he won't make any embarrassing sounds so his face is beet red and his eyes begging for this to stop before he does. Iker finally grabs ahold of Sergio's hands and pulls them down fast and traps them between the strongest things on his body: his legs. Sergio is the poster child of innocence with those large blinking eyes and soft mouth and Iker almost, almost falls for it.

"Oh, Ramos. You're so gonna get it now."

"WIll you two stop flirting!? I'm trying to sleep," Roberto Carlos groans from a couple of rows away, and his words are met with murmurs of agreement. Iker, truly mortified by now, releases Sergio's hands and folds his arms over his chest, looking away from Sergio who, against all rules of nature, appears to be _blushing_. Iker shoulders him away, tightening his arms in their fold.

"Bastards," he mutters, looking quite ruffled and grumpy now and it's so similar to how he looks on the pitch that Sergio is actually nervous. He passes Iker a meek smile that goes unseen by Iker who is staring out the window. "Like we would be flirting."

"Yeah," Sergio smiles and Iker also misses the wist there, the touch of sadness. Sergio smoothes out his dress shirt and then his hair and lets out a small sigh. He glances over at Iker and his eyes catch immediately on the V between two thick thighs covered in expensive material of his pants, on the unmistakeable sight of a hard cock. He draws a deep breath and flicks his eyes up to Iker's face which is trained intently out the window, trying his damnedest to pretend that nothing had happened over the last five minutes. Sergio slides down in his seat until he's practically slouching and he rests his cheek on Iker's shoulder, waiting for Iker's initial tensing to stop and when it does, he lets his eyes fall closed. "How long has it been?"

Iker gives him a hard glance and it wilts as soon as he realizes that Sergio's eyes are closed. He forces himself not to squirm. "How long has what been?"

"Since your last handjob?"

Iker grits his teeth and shoves a smirk onto his face.

"Gave myself one this morning actually."

Sergio makes a small, considering sound and he shifts closer to Iker, nose ghosting his neck. Iker's neck pinks at the hint of contact and he can smell Sergio now and it embarrasses him, the thought of recognizing Sergio's smell at all, but more that he finds it such an attractive scent.

"You know it's different when someone else does it. When all you have to do is sit there and get off. So much better, isn't it?"

"What are you saying, Ramos? Are you offering to get me off?" Iker is speaking under his breath now but his voice is still light, as light as he can keep it, with the threat of raising his voice and calling Sergio out and Sergio can hear it, recognizes such fear very well.

Sergio's eyes slip open and he reaches across Iker for his jacket laying on the seat next to him. He drapes it lazily over Iker's lap and lets his hand come to rest fully on Iker's crotch, fingers pressing gently. He tips his head up and his mouth is soft and his tongue sounds wet when he speaks.

"I won't tell."

Iker's heart is racing now and he's considering all the possibilities, all the potential outcomes of this. He curls down closer to Sergio so his voice can get even softer.

"I'm not gay, Sergio."

"You don't have to be," Sergio reasons, his fingers pulling at Iker's zipper which gives way easily. His lips catch on Iker's earlobe and he lets his teeth sink in just barely. "Pretend I'm Angelina Jolie, if you want."

Iker smiles a little, his eyes threatening to fall closed.

"Jessica Alba."

"Is that a 'yes,' Casillas?" Sergio's hand slips into Iker's pants and he pushes under the elastic band of his underwear, not quite touching just yet.

"Don't make me say it."

Sergio runs his fingers over the very tip of Iker's cock, dampening his fingers and making that cock twitch hard toward Sergio's hand. Iker's chest is rising and falling steadily now and Sergio can feel it under his burning cheek.

"Say it," he murmurs."

"Fuck. Yes. Yes."

And so there, in the small gathering of seats on their part of the darkened train in their part of the world in the very secret place under Iker's suit jacket, Real Madrid's newest signing wraps his hand around the cock of a man he'd only known in the vaguest of ways a mere month ago. His grip is just right, it's experienced and just teasing enough, just rough enough. His fingers press down against Iker's balls and Iker deflates back against the seat, head tipped back, his eyes squeezed close tight as Sergio starts to stroke him, a slow swelling of speed that makes Iker's belly burn. Sergio's tongue licks out and presses to Iker's throat, the tip of his tongue coming into full contact with Iker's racing pulse and so he sucks at it.

Iker writhes fitfully, a truly constrained man in so many ways and so he has no problem keeping in sounds, no problem having a silent orgasm but his breathing is another story, it's building and building and coming out in stuttered exhalations and it's so passionate-soaked that Iker can barely stand it. He reaches underneath the cover of his jacket and finds Sergio's hand and wraps his fingers around his young wrist, the bones of it digging into Iker's palm and he's not trying to stop him but he's trying to control him in some small way, control this at all. Sergio acquiesces, letting Iker cut off his circulation until his fingers feel cold and numb and it feels foreign to him too, such a beautiful, strange feeling (such a secret moment) that Sergio feels tears burn behind his eyelids. He jerks of him off faster now, harder, meeting Iker's hips that are straining up toward him as politely as he can and he wishes that he'd thought to spit in his hand, to ease this a little bit more but Iker's watery salt is just barely enough to make it good. Sergio listens to the almost wet sound of Iker being jacked off, the damp tug and pull of skin and his face is red hot now, he's licking at the bruise he's put on Iker's neck.

"God, I love that sound. Love that fucking sound. So dirty, Iker," Sergio confesses, falling quiet to let Iker hear that sound, the lovely sounds of a cock getting what it wants and Iker makes a tiny, begging sound, capturing it in his throat but Sergio is close enough against him that he hears it, understands it. He shifts so that he can improve the angle and his wrist is aching with the strength he's using now but Iker's body feels like it's on fire immediately and Sergio knows it's worth it. He grits his teeth hard, digging his cheekbone into Iker's shoulder and he's out of breath himself now but none of it matters because he can feel the first tensing of Iker's body as he starts to come, the contracting of his stomach and the first rope of hot white semen and Sergio's mouth is literally watering. He counts six spurts of come that stripe the inside of Iker's jacket and his pants and Sergio's own greedy hand and he wants every fucking drop, frantic that he can't have it. Iker is dizzy now, lifeless in his seat and Sergio can't stop playing with his cock, running it through his fingers now that it's soaked in come and now that it's starting to soften in his nimble fingers. Iker's hips finally shy away, his cock too tender for such an insatiable thing and Sergio smiles as he finally frees his hand, glancing down at Iker's come slicked all over it but he's too timid to lick it off, instead just wiping it off on his own pants.

Iker finally opens his eyes after several moments and he's still breathless when he meets Sergio's eyes, amazed at the twinkle in them, the playfulness, the hunger. He looks down at Sergio's pants that are tighter than his own ever were, that are plainly showing off a very lovely cock.

"What are you gonna do about that?"

Sergio leans forward and captures Iker's swollen lips in a soft, almost sweet kiss before he digs his mouth in against his ear.

"Going to the bathroom. If you wanna watch, you'd better follow."

He's gone before Iker can even react and he sits still for all of five seconds before he's scrambling to life, looking for something to wipe off the evidence so no one will notice when he races past them in a beeline for the train's tiny bathroom where Sergio will be waiting on the small sink, pants around his ankles, shirt undone, that pretty cock throbbing like a beating heart in his teenaged hand.


End file.
